


Damned If You Don't

by LunerSoul997



Series: To Hear Your Song Again [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bonding ritual, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, Is that all of them? - Freeform, Light Angst, M/M, Pre-Canon, Rushed Courting, Well - Freeform, Werewolf Courting, Werewolf Culture, but still, kind of not really, think so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27767878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunerSoul997/pseuds/LunerSoul997
Summary: Steve lightly set his key down on the counter and frowned. "What was that?""What was..." He shrugged, making a confused face."That thing you just threw away?"
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: To Hear Your Song Again [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031286
Comments: 7
Kudos: 81





	Damned If You Don't

"Buck? I'm home!" 

Bucky whipped around and cursed, scrambling out of the chair and making a break for the bin. Tossing it in, he turns around just in time to see Steve walk into the kitchen.

"Bucky?" Steve called, sounding confused.

Bucky cleared his throat and ruffled his hair. "H-hey, Steve. How was, uhh- how was work?"

Steve lightly set his key down on the counter and frowned. "What was that?"

"What was..." He shrugged, making a confused face.

"That thing you just threw away?"

"Oh, that! That was err..." Bucky looked around frantically. "My bank statement."

Steve raised a single brow. "You mean that bank statement?" He nodded to the icebox where, sure enough, a bank statement was stuck.

Steve fished around in the bin until he produced a crumpled piece of paper.

"Steve-"

Steve gave him a sharp look and he wisely shut up. 

Bucky watched helplessly as horrified clarity slowly bloomed on Steve's face. Bucky clenched his fists and watched because there was jack shit he could do about it. He wished that this would just go away, he wished that he could claw and bite and hurt it, hurt it like it was hurting Steve, make it bleed and burn and _suffer._

Reality was like a slap in the face. He couldn't fix this, couldn't hurt it, couldn't run from it. He would leave, and Steve would stay here, and they would be separated. He hadn't ever hated himself more than at that moment. 

At that moment, he could spit acid and cry and cry and cry until his eyes bled. He felt like he could vomit and scream his throat raw. He felt like he could choke out apologies and promises and sweet words, and that no matter how much he spoke it would never be enough, never be anything but air passed through tongue and teeth. 

That was nothing compared to how it felt to see the tears pool in Steve's eyes.

"Oh," was all the blond said. It was all he was able to say.

Bucky swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Yeah."

And that was all Bucky could say. It wasn't all that he _wanted_ to say. No, he wanted to say that it was going to be fine, that he'd be back real soon with a couple of metals and some demons, that this wasn't how their story would end. Not if he had any say in it.

Silence filled their tiny kitchen. A million unsaid words floated around them like dust motes, insignificant without a voice to carry them. Steve carefully folded the letter and laid it on the counter.

"Are you gonna go?"

Bucky blinks. "I ain't got much of a choice in the matter."

"Yeah?" Steve snaps. "And I suppose you've forgotten about our _condition?"_

Bucky clenches his jaw. "So what? I run off into the woods until this all blows over and spend the rest of my life a criminal?"

"Yeah? Run off to Europe and spend the rest'a your life there?"

"I ain't gonna die, Steve!"

"How do you know that?!" Steve roars. "You may not be human but you ain't immortal! You'll be just like any other Bill, Joe, or Frank in this fuckin' war, Buck! Except, what? You can see in the dark and run sorta fast? Good for fuckin' you, James, you can get to the bullet twice as fast!"

Bucky puts his hands on his shoulders. "Steve-"

"Don't," Steve growls, his eyes flashing wolf gold.

Bucky pulls the blond into a tight embrace. Steve hesitates for half a second before he presses his face into his chest and sobs. Bucky rubs his back while Steve cries. Bucky could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Steve cry. 

"Shh," Bucky soothes. "It's okay."

"It's _not,"_ Steve chokes out.

Bucky licks his lips. "No, it isn't." 

===

"Take care of yourself."

Steve nods, once.

"If my Ma invites you over, go."

Steve hums.

Bucky sighs and looks at his feet. He clenches his teeth. "You ain't allowed to die on me, punk." 

Steve looks up at him from underneath his lashes. "That goes double for you, jerk."

Bucky laughs, an abrupt, ugly sound. He winces and pulls Steve into a quick hug, patting him on the back. He pushes away and sinks to Steve's eye level. Sky blue eyes stubbornly stare back at him. He doesn't mention how shiny they are. 

"I expect to hear your song on the wind."

Steve's lips quirk upwards. It's not a smile, or anything else for that matter. "What if I'm calling you home?"

"I'll come running."

Steve huffs, shaking his head at the blatant lie. He sighs. "This has kinda fucked up our plans, huh?"

Bucky cocks his head and takes a step back. He's got that look on his face, the one he wears when he's thinking about doing something that could get them into trouble. "I guess we could... Skip some'a the formalities."

Steve blinks at him, surprised. Bucky had been the one to insist they do it the proper way in the first place. "You serious?" He asks.

Bucky leans down and whispers, "If I die over there, I wanna die knowin' I'll see you in the next life."

"You'd better not fuckin' die," Steve sighs. "I really wanna kiss you right now," he grumbles, glaring at all of the people on the train platform.

"So do I," Bucky breathes. "I'll be back in six weeks," he murmurs. "That fast enough for you?"

"No," Steve huffs.

Bucky pulls away with an apologetic smile. He smoothly slips his hand into his pocket and pulls out a small package. "Here," Bucky says, folding it into Steve's hands. "Don't open it 'til you get home."

Steve looks down at the tiny parcel. It was wrapped in last week's paper and was tied shut with old, dirt-stained shoelaces. Steve grimaces at the strong scent of lavender the paper holds, most likely put there to keep Steve from finding out what it is.

"I didn't know we were doin' gifts," Steve says drily.

Bucky smirks. "Don't worry, you'll figure it out."

Steve frowns and opens his mouth to question the brunet. A sharp whistle blew, people around them begin boarding the train quicker and making hasty goodbyes to their loved ones.

Bucky looks over his shoulder. "I should get goin'."

Steve nods. "Yeah."

Bucky goes to say something, something important if his hesitation is anything to go by. He closes his mouth and says nothing. Instead, he pulls Steve into one last hug before boarding the train. Just before he disappears inside, he catches Steve's eye and tips his hat with a grin. 

Steve smiles and this time, he almost means it.

===

Steve had been staring at the parcel for an hour.

He'd gotten home, placed it on the table, and sat down in front of it. He hadn't moved since.

He was reluctant to open it. Bucky wasn't the type of person who gave someone gifts without a good reason. Whatever was in that package was something that Bucky had decided Steve _needed_ to have, something important. A parting gift, even though he wouldn't be gone long, in the grand scheme of things.

But six weeks. Jesus. Ever since they'd met, Steve and Bucky hadn't been apart for longer than a week. They were practically inseparable, one never far from the other. And now? A few months of training with occasional leave, and then he was off to Europe. Off to go die in a trench, like any true American could, should, and would.

A werewolf fighting a human war. As if it were some honour.

Steve almost wants to laugh. He probably would if he thought it wouldn't turn into sobbing. He looks up. The package is still there.

Steve could remember every gift that Bucky had ever given him. His switchblade, a sketchpad or two, uncountable amounts of pencils and paints, a new pair of shoes, his favourite scarf, his overcoat... And now this.

Steve wonders what his mother would do...

Sighing, he plucks the package off of the table and unties the laces. The strings fall away and the paper falls after it. Steve carefully unwraps the paper and blinks.

In the centre of the paper rests a pair of dog tags. 

Steve assumed that they were Bucky's spare pair. But why...?

That's when the scent hit him. He rolls his eyes. 

A scent-charm was easy for werewolves to make, despite their lack of standard 'magical talent.' It was one of the few spells they could do.

The claim was obvious. The fact that Bucky was giving him this before they were bonded? Yeah, he wanted every wolf in New York to know that Steve was a taken man, regardless of bonded scent. 

It was no secret that Bucky despised him getting into 'unnecessary fights'. He probably thinks that, at least with this, the _wolves_ would stay the hell away from him.

Steve, despite being a bit offended that Bucky thought he couldn't survive without his protection, slipped the chain over his head and the tags under his shirt. Bucky was right, of course. No wolf in their right mind would mess with a member of the Barnes pack, blood-related or not.

He'd have to take them off before he went out, he realized. For now, he relished in the small connection to Bucky, basking in the familiar scent wafting into the air.

Even though the exchange of scent charms typically comes after or directly before a bonding ritual, Steve wasn't complaining. Although he might complain about all the questions that the Barnes women are bound to ask.

Steve sighs and stands. He determinedly shrugs on his coat, carefully takes off the chain, and heads out.

***

Two hours later, Steve strode down the sidewalk, his mind running a million miles per hour. 

In his clenched fist was an official-looking, crinkled paper with a bold 4F stamped on its front.

===

The wind whips his hair into his eyes. He stubbornly brushed it away only for it to fall back mere seconds later. Bodies bustled around him, a hundred voices ebbing and flowing in the air, crashing together and fading away, meaning lost to the wind.

Steve fiddles with the marble-sized object hidden in his pocket. He bites his lip and scans the crowd again. Nothing.

Steve sighs and drops his head, glaring down at the train platform.

A hand lands on his shoulder and Steve yelps, whirling around to glare at that hand's owner.

Bucky laughs. "Sorry."

Steve huffs. "Jerk."

Bucky, the asshole, smirks. "Ya miss me?"

"Of course. Havin' a tough time rememberin' why, though," Steve grumbles.

Bucky grins and tugs him along by the sleeve. "C'mon, let's go home."

Steve grumbles something rude under his breath and Bucky laughs, loud and unabashed. 

***

They step into the apartment. Steve closed the door and hung up his coat after taking the object out of his pocket.

Bucky collapses onto the couch with a sigh. Steve switches on the radio and joins him.

Bucky rolls his head toward Steve. "Did ya open my gift?"

Steve hums and pulls the dog tags out from under his shirt. "You even allowed to give these away?" 

Bucky shrugs. "Didn't ask. Probably not."

Steve shakes his head with a smile and a chuckle. 

Bucky grins like a loon. "So?"

Steve opens his hand and holds it out, allowing Bucky to see the marble-sized object that rested in his palm.

"Oh, Steve," Bucky breathes, picking the orb up with careful fingers. "Are you sure?"

Steve didn't own a lot of silver. His parents had been Irish immigrants, fleeing to America after the last of their pack had been killed off by hunters. They hadn't had the time to pack all of their heirlooms.

But they had managed to get _one._

A bead of fine silver, the size of a marble and painstakingly carved to look like the moon. Polished to perfection and spelled by a witch to never tarnish or scratch. It was the most aggressively 'werewolf' thing Steve owned, as well as the most beloved. 

After being bathed in a mixture of his blood and the powder of dried wolfsbane flowers for one complete moon cycle, it became the perfect offering for Steve's intended.

Also known as Bucky.

"Course I'm sure, Buck," Steve says softly. "If there's anyone my Ma would'a wanted me to give it to, it's you. She and I know you'll take care of it."

Bucky blinks back tears and breathes out a disbelieving laugh. He nods. "Okay, okay," he says, pulling his dog tags over his head. His eyes flick up to Steve before he holds out his hands. "Attach it for me?"

Steve carefully threads the charm onto the chain before letting it fall. It clinks quietly against the tags. 

"Won't you get in trouble for this?" Steve asks curiously, replacing the chain around Bucky's neck. "It ain't exactly regulation."

Bucky leans in close and whispers: "I won't tell if you don't."

Steve smiles. "Deal."

With a fortifying breath, Bucky pulls a bulky package from his pants pocket. He opens the package and pulls a length of twine from the top. Still sat atop the packaging were a fresh sprig of holly, a pocket flask, and two dried pheasant hearts. "Do me the honour?" Bucky asks tentatively.

Steve takes in a shuddering breath of surprise. He knows that Bucky said that they could skip some stuff, but this? Is he being serious?

"You fuckin' with me, Barnes?"

Bucky tsks. "I ain't fuckin' with ya, Stevie."

"Oh," Steve blinks. "Do you even have to ask?" 

Bucky shrugs. "Figured I'd be polite," he says with a sly grin. He shakes his head and clears his throat. "Will you?"

"Of course."

Bucky gently takes Steve's left hand in both of his. With his sharp nails, he cuts a shallow line in both of their left palms. Steve hisses at the sting. Bucky runs apologetic fingers over Steve's palm as he wraps the twine around their wrists and hands, pressing them flush against one another.

He takes the sprig of holly and gently lays it across their joined hands, speaking reverent words in his ancestral tongue. Steve, although he didn't speak the language, knew what the words were. Words spoken hundreds of thousands of times in tens of thousands of languages for hundreds of generations.

" _With thy blood, I do flourish. With this vine, I promise myself to thee. I promise thou ten thousand moons, one million sunrises, and every moment in the astral plane to be spent with me at thy side."_

He looks up at Steve expectantly. With a steadying breath, Steve repeats the words his mother had taught him many, many years ago. 

_"With thy blood, I do flourish. With thy vine, thou hast promised thyself to me, that from this breath to our last, and in the days when we need breath no longer, thou will still be by my side."_

Next, he pulls takes the pocket flask and offers it to Steve. 

Steve takes it with his right hand. Bucky opens the lid for him. The harsh scent of wolfsbane and gin floods the air. _"With this hand, I drink the poison of wolves, with the other I am bound to thee."_

He takes a small sip of the concoction. It burns in his mouth before he swallows it. Every surface the liquid touches is left tingly and warm. He rolls his tongue around and finds that he can barely feel it. He passes the flask to Bucky, who recites the vow in his own tongue before taking a tiny swig of the deadly brew.

He makes a face at the flask. Steve giggles. Shaking his head, Bucky takes one of the pheasant hearts in his fingers. Steve does the same. Together, they recite the final vow.

_"With this heart, I swear to love and protect, to cherish and support, for however long thou allows me."_

And pop the hearts into their mouths. Steve considers it, rolling it over his numb tongue. "Firmer than I expected."

Bucky huffs. 

A sudden shock runs up his arm and Steve yelps, almost pulling his hand away. He stops himself at the last second and sits in awe as the shock morphs into a tiny flame and settles next to his heart, warming him from the inside.

"Holy shit," Steve breathes.

"I know, right?" Bucky says delightedly, poking himself in the chest, as though to tease the flame.

Steve blinks down at their hands. "We just got married."

"Yep," Bucky says with a self-satisfied grin.

Steve laughs delightedly and throws his free arm around the brunet, kissing him senseless.

"Hmm," Bucky pulls back with a dazed smile. "What was that for?"

"We just got married," Steve reminds him.

"Oh!" Bucky exclaims, as though he had genuinely forgotten. Steve's laugh caught in his throat as Bucky pressed their lips together in a single, chaste kiss. "Go us," he mumbles, close enough for Steve to feel his breath on his face.

Steve snorts elegantly. Something occurred to him then and he hissed as though in pain.

"What?" Bucky asks, brows furrowed.

"Your Ma,"

Bucky blinks dumbly for a moment before Steve's meaning catches up to him. He groans. "She's gonna want us to throw a _wedding."_

Steve groans right along with him. "She's gonna want us to invite your cousin _Joseph."_

"Oh, God," Bucky sighs.

"You know somethin' nice, though?" Steve asks.

"What?"

Steve hums. "We just got married."

Bucky grins and kisses him again. Steve laughs in between the sweet pecks.

"What?" Bucky asks, nuzzling under his jaw. 

"We're still tied together."

"Oh! Shit." His fingers dance over the knot. The small rope quickly slackens around their wrists and when it's loose, Bucky throws the twine clear across the room. "There."

"Much better," Steve says before swooping down and stealing a kiss. "I love you, Jerk."

Bucky slides his hand over Steve's flank. He cocks his head and grins. "I love you too, smartass."

Steve huffs. "Rude."

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a lot shorter. I added a lot to it fairly recently, so if you notice any strange tonal shifts or other inconsistencies... Er, sorry. :/


End file.
